Kapitel von Schwan
by Fahiru
Summary: Though they agreed that everything would be okay if they returned to their normal selves, Fakia is starting to realize that Ahiru is not as safe as she could be. A continuation of the Anime Princess Tutu.
1. Akt 1

**Kapitel von Schwan**

**AKT 1 [Idée Fixe]**

_**~Symphonie fantastique: Szene in den Bereichen~**_

**(Symphonie fantastique: Scene in the Fields)**

**By Fahiru**

_Once upon a time, there was a happy ending. A Prince rescued his Princess. A Knight fulfilled his duty and defied his fate._

_"That's great," whispered a small Duck."I'm so glad that everyone's happy now." Turning, the Duck walked away. Alone._

* * *

><p>Blue light shifted through skeletal branches of trees that had long lost their leaves. The moon illuminated the large fountain that splashed effulgent droplets onto the lone silhouette of a young girl, sitting at the fountain's edge. She turned to face the moon, as if it were the only companion that hadn't yet deserted her, hadn't turned its stony face from her lonely form. She smiled like no one should, the sad smile that attempts to keep guilt from those who thoroughly deserve it.<p>

_You promised,_the water whispered as it streamed from the stone beak of the swan in the center of the fountain.

_You said you'd stay. You said you wouldn't leave me, ever. I thought that if you were there with me, then even when I was myself, it would be okay. _

The water seemed to falter, making awful gurgling noises in the bird's throat. The stone swan shifted, bringing it's wings forward to embrace the girl who still knelt at the water's edge. She reached her arms out toward the bird.

_But are you keeping your promise? _The water's gurgle had surged into a desperate and rushing wail.

_Is it really okay like this? _

The girl started to pull away from the swan, but its stone had already started to fuse with her skin. She cried out as she was engulfed in the water that was now pouring from the statue's mouth.

_Are you really protecting me? Am I really safe?_

The wind was roaring now, carrying water from the fountain's pool in an upward spiral around the girl as she and the stone swan started to merge. The water rose and started to glow as it encased the girl-swan in a giant sphere. One that almost resembled a bird's egg...

_I'm scared._

The shell cracked.

* * *

><p>Fakia lurched forward, panting. He scanned the room, his racing heartbeat calming as his vision cleared. He was in his own room on the third floor of the boy's dorm at Kinkan academy. Fakia glanced down and saw that he had his bed covers fisted in his hands, it took him a second to relax and release them. He looked over to see his roommate glaring menacingly at him. It wasn't a new expression to that face. Autor...Fakia only felt slightly bad for causing him to lose so much sleep. <em>Payback for the Drosselmeyer training.<em>

Fakia threw the covers back and stumbled out of bed.

"I'm going out."

"Glad to hear it." Autor immediately flopped back onto his pilfered pile of pillows. Fakia would have to remember to steal his back later.

_I wonder if I was ever that much of a jerk_, Fakia pondered wryly. He started to pull on his jacket then paused, _No...I was worse,_ he slumped, _Much worse._

Fully clothed, he headed out.

These about-four-in-the-morning-walks were becoming a lot more common than was good for him, but in spite of the chill and the undeniably eerie atmosphere of a sleeping Goldkröne town, Fakia was starting to feel slightly more peaceful just knowing what was at the end of his meander. Slightly.

The hush took on a subtly different tone as he entered the town's forest. The frosted leaves drifted to the forest floor where they crunched underfoot and seemed to stir the air. The trees were looking pretty bare, but not dead, not yet. Fakia shuddered, recalling his most recent nightmare. It might take some time before he could stand the sight of leafless trees again. But it would be fine, if he just knew-

Goosebumps raised on his arms and he started to jog.

_This is ridiculous. It's okay. Of course it's okay. _Apparently his body and mind didn't agree; he started to run.

Icy leaves were slipperier than he had realized. But he could wash the blood off his palms once he reached the lake.

_Lake._

Stumbling as he reached the shore, Fakia gained a few more minor wounds from the frozen stubs of dead reeds that rimmed the lake. Kneeling as he removed reed splinters from his already slightly maimed hands, he frantically scanned the banks.

There.

Rustling among the bushes there approached the shivering form of a half grown duck.

"Kweh...?"

Fakia immediately sat up and retorted with the only reply that came to mind.

"_**Idiot**_."

The young duck was looking a little more ruffled and put out than something so petite and artless should.

"Kweh."

Fakia felt guilty of course. She hadn't done anything directly to cause him to worry. Not recently.

"Sorry,"he muttered, casually turning his palms so the bloody sides faced away from her. No need to cause more concern, especially after rejecting it so vehemently. He glanced down. For non-concern-worthy scratches they stung pretty badly. He looked closer. _The source probably isn't the scrapes themselves, maybe my hand just hasn't healed up as well as I'd figured._

He hadn't thought much about the consequences of stabbing his hand with a letter opener at the time, not even that there would be more pain that followed aside from that of the immediate action. It hadn't mattered at the time. As worth it as it was, he was paying for it now. Fakia sighed. _I guess happiness just doesn't come as freely as you'd hope. I must not have compensated enough for it already. _

He hardened his resolve, slowly looking back up at the duck, not wanting to draw attention to his new addition of injuries. No regrets. He could easily deal with blood clots and slit tendons, it was a small price for what he had saved.

Fakia shook his head, his eyes had glazed over. Fixing his gaze once more on the duck, he saw that she would be concerned whether he wanted her to be or not. Time for a distraction.

"I made bread."

"KWEH," the duck quacked solemnly, as she reached out with her wings, managed to get the large roll in her grasp, and began to gnaw. Fakia offered to rip the bun for her when her blunt bill failed to break through the crust, but she indignantly quacked once again and promptly dunked the bread into the water.

_Whoa, she's mad. She'd rather lose a meal than let me help her?_

Fakia was slightly stunned until the duck, having finished soaking the loaf, began once again to gnaw and this time easily ripped off duck-sized mouthfuls. A little abashed for jumping to conclusions and not immediately recognizing the logic in the duck's actions, Fakia busied himself by fishing another bun out of his pocket and starting his own breakfast. Cold bread on a cold morning. _At least it must beat what they serve in the pond,_ he reflected as he watched the duck tear viciously into the bread, making enthusiastic quack-grunts, _then again she always seems pretty happy about anything I make._

"I saw that Canary yesterday."

"Kweh?"

"She's doing well."_ At least as far as I could tell, _he thought, _after all, I'm not a bird._

"Kweh?"

"Her kids have been flying around outside my window a lot since...then. They drive Autor insane."

"Kweh." The duck looked smug.

"I don't get along with him either."

Seeming satisfied, the duck hopped drowsily into Fakia's lap. He lifted her and made a small sling-like-pocket in his jacket for her to rest. She let out one more small, content quack, then nuzzled into his stomach and drifted to sleep.

_Guess it was a little early even for her. _

Closing his own eyes, Fakia fell into a dreamlike meditation, not stirring again until he sensed the pale gray of early sunrise seeping through his eyelids. The nightmares never haunted him here, not when he knew that what he needed to protect lay safely asleep in his arms.

* * *

><p>Fakia fell forward in reaction to the sharp kick that had been delivered to his back .<p>

"Morning Autor," he grunted, raising his damp-soil-be-grimed-face from the rough bank. Autor was so frequently in the habit of waking Fakia in this considerate manner, he no longer bothered to check behind him. Fakia wiped the dirt and gravel bits from his face, wondering what the score of mishaps would accumulate to before midday. He didn't much care about the slight abuse, however, _she-_

Fakia instantly sat up and started to scrabble desperately at his jacket.

"Ahiru wasn't hurt, she was up before you."

Fakia turned to face Autor, then glanced down to see that the duck had latched on to Autor's ankle in revenge for the face-plant he had caused Fakia.

Autor sniffed snobbishly.

"She bites really hard."

"I know."

"Really? You wouldn't guess it with how chummy you two seem to be."

"We tried to kill each other before we were allies."

"She would attack you as a _duck_?"

"...I would try to kill her before we were allies."

"Huh, never would have thought that it wasn't always so warm and fuzzy between you two."

"She actually didn't really bite much til after we teamed up."

"So after you got over your homicidal inclinations she felt it was her turn, huh?"

"...Who knows. Maybe it could have done a little damage if she held on long enough."

"Seems you'd be more likely to keel over if she wasn't there at all. You can tell she likes you because she bites you instead of keeping her distance."

"What time is it?"

"You should work on your transitions, they're too obvious. Poor writing. Six-thirty. We'd better move it, maestro's testing soon, and I still need to perfect my mazurka."

Fakia knelt to unlatch Ahiru's bill from Autor's ankle.

"More Rimsky-Korsakov?"

"Hmm? No, that was 'The Flight of the Bumblebee', these are Chopin. Besides, mazurkas are Polish, not Russian."

"I can't tell the difference."

"They're extremely different. I thought you were a dancer, can't you tell the difference in music?"

"No- I mean, I could tell if I heard the songs. The names – you talk about all your music really late into the night. I tend to wake up around four to see Ahiru. I can't keep it straight at the moment." Fakia rubbed his eyes. Why did the sun have to be so bright?

Autor turned away from Fakia and started towards the town, scoffing about people of lesser intelligence as he went, and how the world was lucky that geniuses such as himself still existed. Fakia sighed and headed after him, taking long strides in order to reach Kinkan Academy in time for their separate classes. They would have to part ways once they reached the campus, the music school being a divergent building from the one that housed the ballet portion of the academy. Fakia wouldn't quite miss his company, although Autor was pretty much the only student he ever spoke too. Then again, Autor was the only other person who remembered-

"You taking her with you today?"

Fakia blinked and looked down into his arms discovering a large pair of deep blue eyes blinking back at him.

"When...?"

"I suppose you forgot to put her down when you 'rescued' my ankle."

"Ah, I should go bring her back-"

"No time. Just stick her in your locker or something."

Fakia exchanged a glance with Ahiru, who vehemently shook her head. She apparently hadn't enjoyed the short time she had spent there when delivering a letter to Mytho. Of course she probably had unsavory memories associated with how he had been acting back then; he hadn't exactly behaved _kindly _towards her...

Ahiru nudged Fakia's hand and hopped out of his arms, flapping her wings clumsily all the way to the ground. She turned to him, quacked, then waddled off towards the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Fakia took an involuntary step after her, he really didn't want her to go near any bird shaped fountains for a while, but Autor caught his sleeve.

"As touching as your overly obsessed and infatuated concern towards a member of another species happens to be, I don't think she's going to be in any danger. After all, the school no longer enrolls predatory animals."

Fakia had been quite humbled lately, but somehow admitting that he was wrong still didn't come easily. Especially if it also meant that Autor was the one who was right. He began a probably-not-very-well-thought-out retort, but the school clock got in a word first.

Fakia walked hurriedly towards the main building with the swarm of slightly frantic students that had all been waiting til last minute to appear under the critical, and usually uncomfortable, gazes of their respective teachers. Fakia paused at the steps, the crowd parting around him as he stared up at the figures dancing in front of the clock. A man and a woman, a knight, and...a swan. _What-?_

"Oh, Pique! If we're late again, Lehrer's gonna scooooold us! HOW CUTE!"

Fakia's attention snapped back to the mob of students as a fluffy blonde skipping backwards passed him, continuously gushing nonsense to a more serious girl whose raspberry hair was pulled back in a bun that would have been stern if it had managed to keep her bangs from escaping. Weren't they in the ballet division?

As Fakia hurried down the hall towards the locker room he reflected on the two girls. Younger than him, about thirteen...hadn't he seen them around Ahiru? They were the ones that had always been pushing her down hills and into bushes and such. He paused, arms halfway through the sleeves of his blue outer shirt. Was it possible that they were bullies? They had seemed to torture Ahiru quite a bit. Had she ever mentioned them anyways? What were their names...a flower and a fish...but not really...

Fakia's head was spinning. With the amount of sleep he got, he didn't have the energy to waste on these kinds of things. In any case, Ahiru was safe now...probably...

As the students filed into the studio Fakia glanced over at the pair of girls from earlier. The blonde one seemed engrossed in some perverse fantasy of her own, but the raspberry one was staring right at him with an intent expression. Scary...Fakia quickly turned his attention back to the front of the room, pretending to observe Herr Pinguin as he flapped out his coattails and seated himself at the practice room's orchestrion. Did she suspect that he had some part in Ahiru's disappearance? But almost everyone had forgotten nearly everything that had to do with Drosselmeyer's interference...Ahiru had worn that same face whenever he acted unkindly...had he offended this kid? Probably. He was on decidedly unfriendly terms with a lot of people. Fakia glanced back once more, and as their eyes met, the raspberry girl's cheeks flushed to match her hair. _Oh. I see. _

Fakia quickly turned back again, just in time to see the Ballett-Lehrer sweep into the room.

The new instructor was...different. The class had been slacking off a lot since that cat teacher had left. Of course none of the other students remembered that the previous teacher had been a cat, they only recalled his strict nature and his threatening habits. Fakia still occasionally spotted him around the pizzeria, along with his flourishing family. The previous Ballett-Lehrer was definitely better off that way, even though his students suffered for it. During stretching and warm-ups the new lehrer was very tentative in both correction and instruction. Some of the students took advantage of this, but many of the lower level students struggled quite a bit with having a soft teacher; they were used to being pushed.

Bringing his leg up to the bar and sliding into the splits, Fakia happened to look out the large window that stood across from the bar. Ahiru wasn't at the fountain. She was there at the window, solemnly pressing her self to the glass, quietly watching the morning class's activity. Watching, but no longer participating.

The class may have lost a good instructor, however they still had the ability to dance. Ahiru could only watch. She couldn't dance with them.

* * *

><p>(AN: This isn't a made-to-depress-you-one-shot. This is the first chapter and I promise the overall ending WILL be happy. I was originally planning for several cameos from our favorite side characters((cough Femio cough)), but recently realized that it would take away too much focus from the plot. The purpose is not to entertain((well, not completely for entertainment, anyway)), but to ensure the happiness of Fakia and Ahiru. Not to say this will always be serious, just that I take it very seriously((most of the time)). In case you're wondering, I spell it "Fakia" and not "Fakir" because that's how it's pronounced and "Fakir" looks and sounds stupid. Thank you very much for reading the first chapter of my first FanFic, I promise there is a lot more to come. Unless I die first. I really hope that's not the case.)


	2. Akt 2

**Kapitel von Schwan**

**AKT 2 [Mutter in Trauer]**

**_Die Lemminkäinen-Suite: Lemminkäinen in Tuonela_**

**(The Lemminkäinen Suite: Lemminkäinen in Tuonela)**

**By Fahiru**

_Once upon a time, there was a mother who loved her child very much. Though she wanted to protect the child, she knew that fate would not allow her to. The child grew up into a hero, bestowed with the task of killing a sacred swan. However, he failed the task and was slain, with only his mother left to mourn him._

* * *

><p>"...Fakia...?"<p>

A sharp sting permeated Fakia's right hand as it wrenched against the practice bar. His expression of concentration shifted slightly to one displaying miniscule pain. He turned his expectant gaze to the Ballett-Lehrer, who was looking very sorry to have addressed this particular student.

"Lehrer Vorsichtig?" he prompted.

"H-Herr Fakia...I...your hand...what did you do...?"

Fakia glanced down at the extremity in question, finding it caked with a dry, dark brown substance that was starting to smudge the bar. As the situation seemed appropriate, Fakia muttered something rather profane. _This morning at the lake- I was planning to wash the blood off but couldn't with her watching the whole time..._

Fakia fully faced the instructor, quietly informing him that he had tripped on the way to class and hadn't had time to thoroughly cleanse his hands.

The lehrer nervously eyed Fakia's injuries. "Oh! They look as if it was rather painful...You'd better go take care of them right away. You are excused from class for now...please come back directly when you are through."

Fakia glanced out the window, spying Ahiru plastered against the glass, no longer watching the class but gawking at Fakia's hands. Well, there went all hope of keeping her happy for the next few hours.

As Fakia strode out of the room he could hear a flutey voice exclaiming:

"Blood! Oh, the wonderful Fakia has been fighting! The blood on his hands may not even be his own! Oh, I'm getting excited- that's what the allure of a dangerous man does to you after all! What about you, Pique, how are you feeling? You look a bit pink- "

Her bothersome squeaks were abruptly cut off as the door thudded behind him. Being anti-social had its downs, such as attracting air-headed girls, but for the most part it had kept away a lot of people who he hadn't wanted to interact with. _Except for her..._

Striding to a small fountain located behind the dance department, Fakia recalled the irritation that Ahiru had caused him. It wasn't anything beyond normal at first. But it just kept nagging at him, like a blister, gradually gaining more and more of his attention. He paused as the water streamed over his hands, eventually washing away bits of dried blood. _That's right. No matter how much I tried to turn her away, she kept butting into other people's business. In the end it was more her business than mine. _

He started to gently massage his hands, grimacing at the needling pressure. _But she challenged my hostility because she was different. Her interference wasn't out of selfish infatuation, it was because she wanted to help. She wouldn't gain anything by it, in fact she stood to lose everything by taking up the most unwanted role in the story, but she did it anyways. For Mytho..._

Fakia frowned and started to rub at his hands harder, ignoring the burning that now raged in them. _It was for Mytho. However, I wasn't a useless side character in that story. I gave her the resolve to defy her fate, didn't I? _Even if it was one action, even if he was not as directly attached to the main character of the story, he was a very important part of _her_ story. Wasn't he? In the end, she was_..._

_Protecting her had become even more important than protecting Mytho._

Fakia let his hands drop. He knelt there, staring at the streaming water. How on Earth could one duck, one seemingly insignificant, completely stereotypical duck, so easily take priority over someone whom he had watched over and quasi-fathered since he was five? _...Because she's all I have left..._but that wasn't it. There was something more than that.

He supposed that it was because his relationship with Ahiru was just completely different from his friendship with Mytho. While his involvement with Mytho barely qualified as a "friendship" so much as a guardianship, his involvement with Ahiru had definitely brought them to a point beyond friendship. _We seemed to skip friendship, going right from uneasy allies to partners. _

It made sense. They had been, and still were, very reliant on each other.

Fakia gazed up at the sky as he continued to scrub at his reopening wounds. He could just make out the distant shapes of birds chasing each other. The prey was small, no bigger than his hand, grayish-white and dirty yellow. The predator of the chase was larger, but harder to spot in the gloom of the looming building. It swooped out into the open sky, a spread of purple-black wings cast a vast shadow, one that could eclipse a small child. A hoarse call broke from its thick beak as it closed in on the smaller bird.

_Raven._

Fakia snatched up a stone and flung it at the black bird.

**Thwack.**

The larger bird fluttered to the ground as the smaller creature it had pursued quickly made its escape.

Fakia stood frozen for a moment. He had meant to drive the bird off, not hit it directly. He sighed. _Now I have to keep a dead bird from stinking up the grounds ... Might as well get it over with now_.

As Fakia approached the mound of feathers, a strangled gargling started to emit from the black lump. _It's still alive ... _Fakia knelt, and as he did so immediately realized his mistake. This bird was much smaller than its shadow had suggested. It wasn't pure black either, but fringed with gray and silver. Not a raven. Not even a crow.

He gently prodded at the bird. It gave something of a wheezing gasp, but didn't seem to have enough energy to make any other response. Fakia slowly and carefully adjusted its position so that he could see it properly.

_Ouch._

There was a dent in the stomach, blood oozed where the rock had hit, and quite a few essential flight feathers had been torn out of the left-wing. One leg was snapped in two, like a twig, and was only kept together by a bit of skin that hadn't been shredded by the splintered bone.

Lately, namely these past ten years, it seemed that every mistake had a grave consequence.

* * *

><p>"What's that?"<p>

"A bird."

"You picked up another one, did you now? What made you fall in love with this one?"

"I'm just taking care of it, and for your information _it's male_."

"Well that's a relief. At least you can still determine gender even if you don't care what species."

Fakia could feel the growl practically clawing to get out of his throat. He swallowed.

"Kweh!"

Luckily for Autor, Ahiru's interruption prevented Fakia from knocking off the other boy's head. Instead, he was forced to take care that she didn't catch sight of the bird.

"Fakia got himself a black lark."

"K...weh?"

Fakia turned to Autor. "A what?"

"A black lark," Autor adjusted his glasses. "It's the common name of Melanocorypha yeltoniensis, which is the species of bird you have so carelessly obtained. I did some research on them upon the discovery that Drosselmeyer had originally intended to use a black lark as the monster figure in _**Prinz und Rabe **_, or _**Prinz und die Lerche**_ as it almost was. In his journals it is mentioned that the black lark held appeal as a potential monster due to the irony and contrast that the fall of such an innocent and generally admired creature would cause."

Here he paused for a moment before going on. "How did you happen to come across this particular bird in the first place, Fakia?"

Fakia looked away, more in an attempt to avoid Ahiru's eyes than Autor's. "It was on the ground outside the dance building when I was sent to wash my hands."

He couldn't let her know how much even the thought of ravens still affected him. _She's had enough worries for a lifetime._

* * *

><p>Feathers were strewn across the bedroom floor, giving the impression of spilled ink.<p>

Fakia had tried to keep from jostling the bird, but it seemed to be undergoing an automatic molting. The bird didn't thrash about anymore, but its heart was pumping faster than a steam engine. Fakia had tried to staunch the bleeding without actually hurting the lark and had failed miserably. It seemed almost as if the fluffy blond from earlier had given a prophesy, now Fakia's hands were indeed splattered with blood that was not his own.

He decided there was nothing he could do for the bird's leg, it was useless to say the least and would need to be amputated. Fakia wasn't very well versed in nursing, but he knew a case that was completely beyond all hope when he saw one. He had laid the bird out on a handkerchief upon the table and continued in his attempts to not cause excessive pain as he tried to find the most efficient way to remove the broken part of the leg. The bone had splintered, so he would need to sever it right below the joint of the limb. Fakia performed the operation as quickly as possible with a letter opener, which happened to be the only tool he had on hand due to dorm regulations. The lark didn't cry out, it didn't seem to have the energy to, but its eyes glazed over, and he had to check its pulse before continuing. He quickly bound up the stub as best he could with a strip of cloth that he had cut from his shirt sleeve; after all, the garment was already hopelessly worn, another bit shouldn't matter.

While the bird was out Fakia decided to examine the rest of its injuries. Its stomach wasn't bleeding quite so much, but had begun to form a nasty clot that was by no means free of either filth or bacteria. From prior experience treating Ahiru's open wounds, he'd learned to catch blood and dirt that could be hidden under feathers.

Once he was finished cleaning and binding the stomach the best that he could, he inspected the left-wing. The tip was nearly bald, not just from the rock but from the molting. This bird wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and there was nothing at all he could do about it.

He dropped into a chair, frustrated. Head in hands he sat, considering his situation. _I can't leave without it if I go early tomorrow morning as usual, so I'll either stay here or allow Ahiru to worry over the bird too. But I can't let her do that, it's my own responsibility._

Fakia lifted his head to look out the window.

_But I can't leave Ahiru alone at the lake. It _is_ her natural habitat, but she's so small, so weak._ Leaving her anywhere with even a smidgen of potential for danger left him feeling anxious.

He rose and walked into the bathroom to wash the bird's blood from his hands and his face, where he had unconsciously smeared it.

That was it then. Ahiru would have to sleep in the dorms for the night.

* * *

><p>"Are we even allowed to bring animals in to the school dormitory?"<p>

Fakia snorted but didn't bother to look up as he answered. "Animals used to be admitted into the school as students."

"Seeing as maestro is no longer an okapi, I would assume that the administration is no longer so open-minded."

"Ahiru is staying here tonight."

"Such a rebel," Autor mocked. "Where is she going to sleep? I'm not giving you any of the pillows."

Fakia did look up this time, handing Autor a carefully arranged wad of fabric as he did so.

Autor sniffed. "And this is?"

"A nest. Sort of. What do you need all the pillows for, anyway?"

Autor turned carelessly to his side of the room as he pulled a light shirt up over his head. His back was crisscrossed with numerous fading bruises, some of which had broken open, leaving him with long, ugly yellow-brown scabs.

"While you were attempting to to write something useful, the head of the Bibliothek Trolle was trying to break through the door with an axe. I got to be part of the barricade. It'll take a while to heal, get used to no pillows."

Fakia turned away, stripping off his own shirt as he changed clothing.

_And here I've moped about my involvement and failure in the story. Ahiru's alive, isn't she? I haven't failed. I'm just still working._

He glanced back at Autor, who had gone silent and crawled into bed.

_If anyone has the right to feel dissatisfied with their role... Autor's taken bigger blows from this than I have. He didn't hold a major role, or any given role at all, and even though he admired Drosselmeyer so much...he still helped us defeat him._

Fakia heaved a sigh.

_And as much as I hate admitting it, we would have died without him. He's still helping me, even now._

Fakia plucked Ahiru from his bed, where she had fallen asleep during the most recent conversation. Gently, he placed her among the woven strips of cloth on his bedside table. Checking on the lark one last time, he slipped between the sheets and closed his eyes. He wanted today to leave him as soon as possible.

* * *

><p>For the first time in so many consecutive days, Fakia felt the sunlight warming his face and the softness of a mattress at the same time. He let his eyelids slide open, taking a few moments to register the yellow that encompassed his vision. Ahiru had rolled out of her mound of a nest and now lay sprawled on the mattress about a foot from his face...<em>could<em> birds roll?

It was nice not having to worry, but instead being able to wake up to see her well beside him. _If only I could bring myself to separate her from the lake all together..._

Fakia gingerly snuck out of bed, careful not to let the mattress spring up and shock the duck who still slept peacefully. _It's a little strange, but now that I think about it, don't ducks usually sleep curled up rather than spread out?_ Who knew...

He slipped the curtain aside, watching Ahiru's canary and her nearly matured brood as one by one they gave chase to each other in the early morning sky. Even as they drew so close to adulthood, still being able to stay by a parent seemed to be such a luxury. _Birds are really chummy. I wonder just how much attention they might need-_

Fakia quickly turned his attention to the box where he had put the black lark the night before. Holding his breath as a sudden anxiety overcame him, he peered closely at its still body.

Its chest neither rose nor fell.

Somewhere in the courtyard, Fakia swore that he could hear the urgent calls of a bird that had lost its mate.

* * *

><p>(AN; So I hope it doesn't bother anyone that I gave Autor a sort of "info-queen" role in this chapter, I promise I have great plans for him as he is pretty much my favorite character to write right about now...if you can't already tell. In case you're wondering, "Bibliothek Trolle" is German for "Library Trolls", which is a title that me and my siblings find more appropriate in regards to the "book men".

Also, I don't normally give mention to any outside influence in my Author's Notes as it breaks up the mood ["presentation!"] as well as the fourth wall...which I'm already breaking by inserting myself into the chapter via A/N...but yeah. "..." Oh yeah, back on track, there were many very encouraging people who I would like to thank, even though this is only the much procrastinated-on second chapter. My sister, FullMentalPanic, who proof-reads absolutely everything I write, it means a lot to me. Thank you for giving such honest yet tactful advice, I love your constructive criticism, as well as the late-night hilarity that these writing sprees bring about. LauParisi; What good times one can have solely through PM! You've been a huge help by just being there for me, the super-underground-soon-to-be-society of the Sabnoteofs shall rule the world some day. Just you wait. WinniUsagi! My very first reviewer! Thank you so much! beyond-the-shadows; you are one of the authors on here that I hold in highest regard, you have no idea how much it means to me that you actually read one of my stories, too! I'll try my best not to disappoint you, so please continue to guide me. But, y'know, no pressure. ^-^

Also, thank you to the following for alerting, favoriting, and/or reviewing!

DancingArtist22, EmeraldoftheFlame, Tensai55, Diabolical Kitsutora, and The Joker's Ears and Eyes. Thank you so much for your support! I can't believe how many people favorited after just the first chapter!

I will not be giving acknowledgements for every chapter, as I feel that the main focus should really be the story, and I don't mean to guilt trip people into reviewing or following with this either. Things like that are your own decision. This sounds like a pep-talk.

Okay, but any-who, I apologize for the slow development, however, I have no intention of speeding it up as every single part of this that I am writing has significance in the story. Sorry for the ramble, those of you who read this far into it, future notes will be much shorter. I make no promises about the release of chapter three (because the avoidance of being a hobo for my future career is more important than fan fiction, let's face it), other than the promise that it _will_ come out. So just know that this story will never go on Hiatus, I am constantly writing it and/or planning it out. Thanks!)


	3. Akt 3

**Kapitel von Schwan**

**AKT 3 [Das Schwert und die Feder]**

**_~Der Zauberlehrling~_**

**(The Sorcerer's Apprentice)**

**By Fahiru**

_Once upon a time, there was a young and reckless boy. The boy was apprenticed to a great and powerful magician. The magician was wise and careful,but the boy lacked self control and out of his own curiosity, nearly drowned himself in his irresponsible use of magic. The boy had great power, however, he was merely a human. He had yet to learn that some forces are not for people to command._

* * *

><p>Dead.<p>

It was dead.

He had killed it.

Fakia didn't know what to do. He felt his mind wanting to go in all different directions. He wanted to fling the dead body out the window. He wanted to scream at the bird for taking up so much of his time and energy. He wanted to cradle its small carcass and beg it to come back to life. He wanted so badly to go back to yesterday and to be sure that he never even looked at the bird, to have let it go on chasing the smaller bird for whatever reason. He wanted to go back to sleep. To wake up and see no bird. In fact, he wanted to wake up and never see another bird in his life, he wanted to wake up and see Ahiru. He wanted to wake up and see her human.

And so he went back to bed.

Fakia crept slowly between the covers. He moved to place Ahiru back into her makeshift nest, but thought better of it when his slightest touch made her toss and turn. So he laid himself at the very edge of the mattress instead, so as not to accidentally roll over and squash her.

He tried to sleep, but his eyes wouldn't stay closed. He was restless. There was gooseflesh covering every inch of exposed skin. He shivered. Fakia felt his forehead for fever only to find that his hand was shaking. He wasn't sick.

He was scared.

* * *

><p>Dark.<p>

All the world is enclosed in glass, waiting patiently for an unknown force to take its fate, and shake up its existence.

Within the glass there is a city. All the color has been drained, leaving a world painted in black and negative space.

He walks down the silent streets of the abysmal town, his path decided by the walls that spring up to block all other possible routes. He comes to the square.

There are four windows illuminated in candlelight, but to each one that he turns, the light suddenly flickers out, leaving him in darkness.

He sees his shadow cast in front of him, sharp and clear cut. Afraid that this light too will vanish if he faces it in full, he slowly looks down at the cobblestone pavement. In the bright square cast by the candle he can see the silhouette of a small family eating dinner at a table. There is a slenderly built man, leaning over his plate, and a small child is across from him. The child is energetic and gestures widely, causing the man to bend over and tremble with what appears to be laughter. Then the dark outline of a woman comes in. She gracefully strides to the table, placing some sort of dish on its surface. He sees that her hair is rather long, worn in what appears to be a braid. As she straightens up he can barely see the thin shadow of a stray lock sticking up from the crown of her head.

He quickly turns to the window. The light doesn't go out, but something is wrong. The man is there, and he is indeed shaking. But there is no child, and there is no woman. The man is bent over the table not to eat, but with a pen in hand. The man isn't laughing.

He runs to the window to catch a closer look at the man's face, but cannot see it beneath the dark hair. He leans against the wall of the house, trying to call to the man through the window, but his hand slips from the stones. He looks down to see that his hand is slick with red. Something cold hits his neck, and he touches it, then looks at it. More red. And suddenly, everything is red, the lamps, the pavement, red falls from the sky, oozes from the brick work. He can smell it in the air, and is a bit shocked as he recognizes the scent.

The town is drowning in red ink.

* * *

><p>Weightless.<p>

Fakia jerked awake, shaking off the falling sensation as the ceiling came back into focus.

He shivered, looking to the window to see that it had been opened. _Autor's up. _He slowly forced his attention to the table. The box was gone. Fakia heard the door close.

Without looking up he muttered,"You could at least have let me bury it."

"Too late, funeral service is over and done. Be happy I let you sleep in." He dropped a small box on his side of the room. "And next time keep your dying animals in containers that don't belong to me."

Fakia turned his head and stared at the ceiling. He heard an exaggerated sigh.

"Listen, I know you have a weird sentimentality for birds, but that's just life. The things spend their days struggling to survive then they go off and die for lighter injuries than what that lark received. That's their pointless existence in its entirety, get over it. It was gonna die sooner or later, and it really made no difference to the rest of the world, so you better buck up and get used to it."

Fakia kept his eyes on the ceiling while Autor's words filled the room, then turned on his side and looked at Ahiru. She was curled up in an un-bird-like ball, gently snoring through her bill. He thought about the dream he had.

He wasn't a very mushy person. He really hadn't had any attention to spare because he was so busy making sure Mytho didn't jump off a bridge to save a drowning bee. And there had been a lot of drowning bees. Because of Mytho, Fakia hadn't given much thought to his own future. He hadn't thought about what he would do when he grew up. He hadn't even known if he would live that long, he still didn't know. He hadn't thought about whether he would grow up to be a blacksmith like Charon, whether he would look into what his own parents had done, whether he would have a profession in ballet... Fakia's subconscious consideration of the future was wholly represented in the wish of not dying, but he hadn't thought at all of what to do with the life he had tried so desperately to save.

And now there was the dream.

Fakia did not really want Ahiru to stay a duck forever, but it was mostly because a duck was much easier to harm than a person. It wasn't so terrible that she couldn't talk to him as she once had. When Fakia had written the ending of Mytho's story, he had made a connection with the characters. Even now, though he couldn't specify what Ahiru meant precisely, he had a blurry understanding of the direction to which her thoughts veered. He hadn't really ever lost her, she was still with him.

But the dream.

Herr Katze had given many lectures on love and marriage, as it seemed to be his passion hand in hand with ballet. The cat had spoken with Fakia individually many times too. For some reason, Katze had seemed very insistent that Fakia should understand the subject matter that the teacher himself found so important. But, like knowledge of the existence of government officials and other countries, this was something Fakia had absentmindedly dismissed as a personal possibility. He had acknowledged it as something other people experienced but hadn't planned to be involved in himself.

Now that they had overridden the fate that sought to have him slashed in half, a few more paths had opened for his future. Such as the possibility that he would actually have one.

Well, whatever the outcome, Fakia certainly didn't want what he had seen when he had turned to look fully through the window. As for the rest, he would have to think about it.

Fakia glanced back down at the sleeping Ahiru, and as he watched her he could hear Autor's words replaying in the back of his mind.

Fakia got out of bed and dressed himself, checked on the little yellow duck once more, made sure the window was open in case she wanted to leave, then left for the school library.

The week had ended and Fakia found himself walking past bustling housewives who were on their way to the Saturday market stalls at the town's center, carrying either products of their families' craft or the hard earned income of the household. Normally he would have gone to the market for Charon, but the errand hardly crossed his mind today. He had something much more important to do.

* * *

><p>Fakia had never been to the section on animal research in the library and found that it was not very big. A few cases at most. However, the section on bird books took up a considerable amount of space, which was both encouraging and worrying. He had a lot of studying to do.<p>

Of the eighty-six books on birds, four of them were on ducks specifically. Fakia sighed as he pulled them off the shelf, briefly observing their covers before checking them out at the counter. He was a bit surprised that the librarian today was a student and not a teacher, even though today there was no school. The boy behind the counter was the one who, if Fakia remembered correctly, had been a bat a mere few weeks ago. He now was a dark adolescent of about fourteen, of average height and pleasant countenance. He looked over Fakia's choice with great interest as he recorded the titles of the books and the identification of the student borrowing them in the library's ledger.

"Dropped History and local Literature, moving on to Animal Studies, eh?"

"...You sure have a good memory, kid."

"Ah, no, not really. A lot of people come to the library, but not very many actually check out books. Because most are looking for bits and pieces of information for school, they don't tend to bother reading books in their entirety. Yours is one of the few names I've actually recorded in this book."

"Reading is that unpopular?"

"Not unpopular really, just that recreational reading is usually done on the weekends and at those times the students usually don't get their books here. It's a bit of a waste really. Hey, did you ever go to see Autor that time?"

Fakia was a bit unnerved by the boy's friendly banter, finding that he wasn't really accustomed to this sort of pointless conversation. Come to think of it, he didn't even know the kid's name...

"Oi, sorry to be rude, but as I don't really know you, I find no obligation to-"

"Ah that's right! A bit strange, as a librarian I have information about everyone else yet I remain quite anonymous! I suppose that could be uncomfortable now that you mention it."

Before Fakia could take this opportunity to escape, the boy grabbed his hand and shook it good-naturedly. He smiled broadly as he continued, revealing bat-like canines that stuck out a bit from the otherwise straight teeth in his upper jaw. "I'm Renault Kurt, and you're Fakia. Now we're acquainted."

Fakia pulled his hand back."Yes, well, I'm in a bit of a hurry, so I won't bother you any longer."

As Fakia left the building he could hear Renault calling after him, "It's no bother! I'll see you again when you come to return the books then!"

Fakia hadn't talked to anyone but Autor for a good while, and Renault's unfazed interaction had derailed his composure. Fakia was new to casual conversation and wasn't sure he liked it, he certainly didn't like wasting time when he'd no idea how much time he actually had. It was very unsettling.

* * *

><p>" <em><strong>...Scientific classification:<strong>_

_**Kingdom: Animalia**_

_**Phylum: Chordata**_

_**Class: Aves**_

_**Order: Anseriformes**_

_**Family: Anatidae**_

_**Duck**__: __**Common name for a large number of species in the Anatidae family of birds, which also includes swans and geese. There are several subfamilies which ducks fall under, not representing a monophyletic group but a form taxon, since swans and geese are not considered ducks..."**_

Fakia put down _The Encyclopedia of Our Most Common Water Fowl_, leaning back with a frustrated sigh. Around him lay the other volumes he had borrowed, _Ducks of Southern Germany__, __History of the Duck__, _and _Every Species of Duck_. The first three had been too broad in subject matter, and Fakia had yet to open the fourth. He was propped against a support on the small dock built on the banks of Ahiru's lake. He had cast a fishing line out into the water and secured his rod in between the boards of the dock; if he was able to bring back fish, then Charon would consider his time at the lake both productive _and _economical. Ahiru was out on the water, dunking and splashing, not really for food so much as just for the fun of it. He could sense that as a girl she had missed the unique swimming ability that she had possessed as a duck. Fakia took a break from reading, instead watching her as she splashed about, quacking happily as she did so. He noticed that, though she had been clumsy as a girl, she had what could be considered a certain elegance and grace when she entered the water, She was obviously very at home where she was, and she herself seemed a bit pleased to be immersed in her only natural environment. Even as someone who knew little of the sport, he could see that she was a beautiful swimmer.

He straightened up and opened up the very last book, _Every Species of Duck__, _turning to the table of contents.

"**...**

**Discerning Duck Species...3**

**Average Characteristics of Ducks...10**

**Dabbling Ducks;**

**Common to the Eastern Hemisphere...25**

**Common to the Western Hemisphere...193**

**Perching Ducks...285**

**Shelducks...295**

**Diving Ducks...318**

**Odds and Ends...468**

**Index...499"**

Fakia turned to page three.

"**This is an independent study compilation of information on one of the world's most incredible birds; the duck. It is difficult to observe just one duck, as there is an incredibly wide range of species, so firstly I have provided some step by step instructions on discerning the species of the particular duck you may be observing.**

**Step one is to find its feeding classification: Dabbling or Diver. As can be assumed by its name, a diver propels itself underwater in search of food. A dabbling duck, on the other hand, group feeds by upending. Next, a number of ducks may be discerned through their plumage..."**

Fakia quickly checked Ahiru's current state. She was upending. Fakia turned to page 25, where there were watercolor portraits identifying several different types of dabbling ducks common to the Eastern Hemisphere. Skimming through them, Fakia soon found what he was looking for.

"**The pekin, though most commonly white, will in rare cases possess yellow tinge as shown here."**

_So that's what she is..._

Fakia flipped through the index until he found the section of the book that held information on pekin ducks. He flipped to page 46.

" **Perhaps one of the most well known species of its kind, the pekin is a domesticated duck that originated in Asia, raised for meat, eggs, and feathers. They are the duck used in the Chinese dish of "Peking Duck".**

"**Though categorized as a domesticated duck, the pekin duck is often lumped with dabbling ducks, even though its posture is much more upright..."**

Fakia gritted his teeth. He could imagine what Drosselmeyer must have thought of this, the perfect choice, a creature raised solely for slaughter. He skimmed a bit as he tried to find some useful information.

"**Though thought of mostly as a resource for food and pillows, pekin ducks actually make ideal companion animals for a variety of reasons. As a duck imprints on a human, the bond of trust that develops rivals that of humans and dogs, for example, and can provide enduring companionship if they are not surrounded by other ducks as they tend to flock together.**

"**Pekin ducks are very intelligent, and are capable of lifelong strong and loyal bonds with humans, and often they prefer human company over the company of other ducks. Pekin ducks will acquire a strong yellow tinge when exposed to less sunlight, as is often the case with pekin ducks kept as pets.**

"**Ducks are highly adaptable animals and can live both outdoors and in. When properly imprinted, it becomes extremely rare for a pekin to ever stray from the side of their human companion, even in the outdoors. They remain with their flock in the face of danger, and are excellent sentinels..."**

Fakia watched Ahiru once more, finding that all the information still matched her very well. He was beginning to feel a bit uneasy.

"**As they are raised for food and not intended to live long, pekin ducks tend to have shorter lifespans than most ducks, due to their breeding. Whereas an average duck will have a lifespan of about 15-30 years, a pekin duck will only live for about 5-12 years, shorter when exposed to too much stress..."**

Fakia shut the book. Carefully, he gathered up the rest and placed them together in a pile before calling Ahiru over to him. Curious, she swam back to shore and hopped up onto the dock where he sat. She quacked inquiringly before he picked her up and held her close. She was a bit stiff in her surprise, but soon relaxed and allowed him to keep carrying her as he took up his fishing pole, gathered the books, and made his way back to town.

* * *

><p>He didn't really want to see Autor nor did he wish to be interrogated by the talkative bat-boy more than once in one day, and so he had gone to Charon's with the intention of returning the books he had borrowed the following week when school resumed once more. The older man wasn't in the house, probably gone to market himself, and so Fakia left the books in his room and took Ahiru to the dining room where he heated up some water on the little wood-burning stove.<p>

Ahiru dozed off soon after they had finished eating and slept in Fakia's bedroom while Fakia still sat at the table in the small dining room with a mug of tea. He gazed intently at the steam that rose from the hot liquid as he tried to get his thoughts in order. The attempt wasn't proving very fruitful.

_Only 5-12 years. How long has she been alive already? In ratio to an adolescent by human standards, she must already be a few years old, at least two. That doesn't leave her very much time, especially with all she's been through..._

He looked over at the desk where he kept all his writing materials. He quickly looked down again, scolding himself.

_Idiot! Much too dangerous! What makes you think you could do something so big? And what about what Ahiru wants? Didn't she say she would be okay as a duck? Isn't this just your own paranoia eating away at you? She's going to be okay!_

But the urge to write didn't leave him, and he began to think back on the most recent events. How Ahiru slept in a such a human-like manner, her face as she watched the ballet class dancing without her, all her friends who had forgotten her... and then he thought of what he had read in _Every Species of Duck_; about how, when correctly influenced, a pekin duck would grow to prefer human company over that of other ducks.

_It's true that she is very intelligent. She has been exposed to the complexity of human life, there's no going back. She's already too much like a human to become a duck again._

He thought of the second, and last, time they had danced together.

He was a bit startled when he heard the door close and looked up as Charon walked into the room, setting down the goods he had managed to get in the town market.

"Hey there. Week been good?"

"It's been easier at least. You?"

"Oh, I get worn out. It's strange, but when I come home and no one is there I feel like something's a bit off. Like someone should be here waiting in the house who isn't here anymore. Even when you're here, there's still too much empty space."

"Maybe you should have accepted Retzel's offer after all."

Charon chuckled. "It's true that back then the feeling wasn't there, but it wasn't there after she left either. No...someone else is missing, and it may be more than one person."

"Come on Charon, you know it's always been just the two of us."

Fakia was lying through his teeth. He knew exactly what, and more specifically _whom_, Charon was talking about. He stood and went to the desk.

"Oh, you're writing again? It's been a long time."

"Yeah," Fakia looked down at the paper and ink in his desk. Two inks, black, and red. "It's been a while." Fakia sat down and took up his pen.

* * *

><p>(AN: So, as far as I know, the duck information is accurate. I did a lot of research, so you're just going to have to deal with what I've got. There were actually conflicting sources on whether or not Pekin are dabbling ducks, they may actually be divers because they tend to get really heavy and their bodies have a streamline shape, so...I might have accidentally lied about the classification, but I'm really not sure because domesticated ducks wouldn't have to get their own food! So what about Ahiru? Well, pekin matched her best, plus I need her to be a duck with a short lifespan to kick Fakia into action, and pekin ducks have maybe the shortest lifespan. I mean, most ducks live a really long time! The fact that pekin ducks are really good with human companionship was a convenient coincidence. I didn't make it up. I got my information from several sites, but a lot of the passages on pekin ducks were nearly direct quotes(cough Plagiarism cough) from an article on Wikipedia. I actually don't know how much people knew about ducks back then, so this is probably the most inaccurate chapter time-era-wise in the entire series, hopefully I stop straying and stay legit. As for as whether or not there were pekin ducks in Germany during that time, I know that they were shipped to the Americas in 1875, so I'm going to be lazy and assume that yes, they did have pekin ducks. Or at least one. Which they do now. Anyway, I apologize if this appears sloppier than usual, I was in a hurry and didn't actually start on this chapter til a while ago. I know. I'm so ashamed.

Many thanks to FullMentalPanic and Chronic Guardian for proofreading and making fun of this chapter throughout its creation. Now Fakia's dream in Akt 3 will be forever remembered as the Scrooge Dream of Christmas Future.)


	4. Akt 4

**Kapitel von ****Schwan **

**AKT 4 [Oktoberfest]**

**~_Petruschka: Der Fasching Messe_~**

**(Petrushka: The Shrovetide Fair) **

**By Fahiru**

_Once upon a time, there was a little straw puppet. The puppet was in love with a beautiful ballerina, but the ballerina rejected him as she found him weak and pitiful. She instead pursued the attention of a much more violent suitor. When the puppet tried to protect the ballerina from the suitor's intentions, he was slain on the spot. In the end, perhaps it would have been better if he had never loved at all._

* * *

><p>Fakia woke up with ink stains on his face.<p>

Smudged and gray, hopeful yet ineffective words were written backwards across his left cheek, curving from his ear to the corner of his mouth. Though he hadn't realized their presence until he saw Ahiru's face.

She had greeted him enthusiastically when he came into the room, then made a comic expression when she saw the splotchy writing. He had just noticed the words in the mirror when she hopped up on the dressing table to get a closer look, squinting at the text as she tried to decipher the reverse lettering. He wondered a bit nervously if she could still read. Flapping her wings in frantic pantomime, she quacked excitedly to the point of squeaking. She paused for a moment, her already hard to read face completely inscrutable.

Then she flew at his face.

Alarmed, Fakia stepped back to dodge but stumbled over the foot of his bed. He instinctively tried to block her with his hands, but wasn't fast enough. She landed gently on his collar bone and clumsily pecked his cheek.

…

Fakia sat up, perplexed but unharmed. He touched his cheek, looking hard at Ahiru. She wasn't looking him in the eye. Then the meaning behind her actions dawned on him, and he felt his face grow warm. After several minutes of silent gaze avoidance, her eyes slowly met his and she waddled to where he sat on the bed. Never breaking eye contact, she placed her wing on his knee and quacked.

And he understood.

Reaching out, he carefully patted her head in response.

"You're welcome."

* * *

><p>"Oh, look who decided to stop moping and take initiative! Yes, let's write a story because it turned out <em>so<em> well last time."

"Shut up, Autor."

"In case you forgot, despite your lineage you are almost totally inept as a writer. Oh, probably due to the fact that you decided to refrain from developing your skills these past ten years or so."

"Shut up, Autor."

"Hey, did you ever get around to finding out if the Bibliothek Trolle are still in action? You know, just in case they might try to come in the night and chop off your hands for meddling with reality?"

"I said shut up."

Fakia didn't know why Charon had let Autor into the house, or why the scornful boy had shown up in the first place; but eventually he was able to tune out the ranting taunts and focus on the page before him.

Four words.

"**Once upon a time..."**

He leaned his forehead on his hand, feeling the cool ink smear just below his hairline.

"**...there was a duck."**

His hand paused. Already, it didn't feel right. He didn't know if it was just due to the lack of clever wording, or because Ahiru was so much more than a duck. He clutched his bangs, trying to think. _What is it then? A piece of the prince's heart? But he's gone, and that would defeat the purpose. A piece of my heart? Can I even do that? We do seem to be in a different reality than before..._

He brought his chin up to rest on his palm.

_Then how _do_ I make a fairy tale? But Autor's right, if it affects the rest of the town too much, I'll rouse suspicion on the part of the Bibliothek Trolle. How do these sorts of things go in books?_

He squinted at the fibers in his quill, one he had made sure did not come from a duck.

_Swan Lake was a declaration of love, but that one still ended badly. Sleeping Beauty was a kiss, though that seems unlikely. The Nutcracker was a promise to cherish despite appearance and form...that might work...though I believe I've already done something of the sort..._

He began to gnaw his lip.

_But those were all to break spells, not cast them. Though...I suppose I'm not trying to cast a spell exactly, just change a fate..._

The irritable whine of Autor's voice broke his concentration.

"Autor, _shut up._"

"Geez, I didn't think you'd get so disgruntled over the idea. Are you sure you're even Bavarian?"

Fakia just looked at him. Then he noticed that Charon was standing there too. The older man raised a brow, looking a bit more amused than concerned.

"I don't think he was even listening, young man. Why don't you try again?"

Autor gave a dramatic sigh, pushing up his glasses. "I _said_ that maybe your mind would loosen up if we went out and got a drink."

Fakia blinked again. "...Oh...September 17th is today, isn't it?"

Charon laughed. "Good thing you weren't in town yesterday. Even with such a small imitation of the festival there were plenty already passed out in the streets."

Autor smirked, turning to the older man. "You'd think they could tell the difference between a pint and a liter stein, though even then, Märzen is definitely stronger than most beers."

Fakia turned back to his writing desk. "I don't feel like drinking, it'll only slow me down in the long run."

"Ah, then it will be just the two of us."

"Two? Charon's going as well?"

"Who said he was?"

Fakia glanced over his shoulder to see Ahiru between Charon and Autor. She looked very eager and very clueless. He felt his eyelid twitched.

"She is _not_ going to the beer festival. At least not today. It's the most chaotic when all the first-timers are finding how hard it is to hold their liquor. Maybe in a day or so, it lasts more than two weeks anyhow."

Autor snorted. "Is that so? With all the anxieties you hold for her, how do you know she'll even live that long?"

Fakia stood forcefully, but Charon had stepped between him and Autor. The aging blacksmith eyed Fakia piercingly.

"What's got you so riled?"

Fakia clenched his jaw, looking to see that Ahiru had waddled off to investigate the wood pile by the stove, apparently having missed the most recent exchange. He swallowed, trying to find the right words.

"Charon...do you think the house still feels empty?"

The older man thoughtfully stroked his chin. "Not so much, now that you mention it...but there's still someone else that should be here..." He shook his head, eyes sharpening as if he had just remembered something important. He held up a hand to indicate that Fakia should stay put, then exited the room hurriedly.

"So the old man doesn't remember, eh? He doesn't even seem to know who I am."

"Well, I don't recall you ever coming here before."

Autor gave an offended sniff. "You should have told him. I _am_ likely the only blood family you have left, after all."

Fakia grunted. "In theory."

"I'm rarely wrong."

"You were wrong when you thought Drosselmeyer was a 'magnificent master of his craft'."

"_That_ is _not _so. True, he may have had some malicious intent, but he is still the very epitome of eloquence and genius. This you cannot deny."

Fakia felt very much like denying Drosselmeyer along with the rest of whatever family tied him to this biased encyclopedia.

Charon returned, carrying a lumpy package wrapped in thick brown paper. "Folks at the mill gave this to me yesterday. Said Retzel had sent it for you."

Fakia unwrapped the package slowly, finding another parcel wrapped in bright blue tissue and a note written out in Retzel's curvy script. He furrowed his brow and unfolded the paper.

**"**_**Fakia,**_

_**"It's been a while, hasn't it? Though not nearly as long as before, it still feels like ages since I've seen you, especially since it seems I don't remember much of what happened during our last visit. Have you become that unmemorable? **_

**"**_**Hans and I have been happily married for a few weeks now, and he found us a lovely little cottage on the outskirts of Munich. I was unpacking my things and found that I had bought this package when I was leaving town last, but I don't seem to recall why. Stranger still, I was sure that it was for you, though goodness knows why. Did you find yourself a girl, Fakia, and I simply forgot her? You don't seem like you would have a single forgettable person in your life. Maybe you'll tell me?**_

**"**_**It's odd, but I somehow forgot the name of the town. I was sure that it was called Goldkröne, but the delivery service said there was no town of that name in the area specified. They told me the closest there came was the walled city of Nördlingen. Where has my memory got to? It's not as if I'm an old lady yet!  
><strong>_

**"**_**-Retzel"**_

Being careful not to rip the tissue, Fakia unwrapped the parcel, then stiffened a bit at its contents.

Charon grunted, "Now why would she send you a thing like that? Something you forgot to tell me, Fakia, or is she just being Retzel?"

In his lap was a pale yellow and carmine Dirndl, made to fit a young girl of twelve - maybe thirteen. The little dress certainly would have looked nice with blue eyes.

* * *

><p>Fakia had only recently reached an age at which he could drink without the company of an adult, but hadn't taken advantage of it as he had been too busy trying to figure out how to avoid death without abandoning his responsibilities. Especially after the story ended, there was no way he could allow himself to indulge in such things with his current emotional state. He too often found himself with the desire to escape reality, after all.<p>

Autor, on the other hand, seemed to have already spent a great deal of time building up a resistance to alcohol's depressive qualities, claiming Drosselmeyer had done so himself out of paranoia. Fakia had never pegged the studious boy as the drinking type, though once he thought about it, it seemed Autor was very good about moderation, when it came to certain influences, and was adept at enjoying quality over quantity.

He had accredited the empty streets the day before to a Saturday market, but now realized that the majority of the population had migrated to Munich for the Oktoberfest celebration, the rest concentrating in the local square for an imitation festival. Goldkröne, though small, was not a community to skimp when it came to merrymaking. However, Fakia found his memory oddly blank concerning this particular event, even though he knew exactly what went on, and turned to Autor for information.

"Did I miss the beer festival last year?"

Autor guffawed. "Of course not. I doubt you would have noticed during your full-time occupation as the prince's nanny, but there hasn't been an imitation since before you were even born."

"That's odd, they seem to have these sorts of events all the time, the Fire Festival was less than two months ago..."

"The Fire Festival does not exist."

"Doesn't exist? But I remember that day, when..."_ When I locked up Mytho and made Ahiru cry. _His conscience snapped at him. _Kind of difficult to forget that. _Autor interrupted his thoughts.

"You may remember that day, I do as well, but in the place we are now, that day never happened"

"...What are you getting at?"

Autor gave an uncharacteristically weary smile as he led Fakia into a tent that reeked of specially brewed beer. "How many times have you left this town's vicinity?"

Fakia felt like scoffing, but halted as Autor's words set in. "...I never have, have I?"

Autor shook his head slowly, almost sympathetically. "No, you haven't."

The sole instance that Fakia could recall of ever going outside the town was on that last night when he had pursued Ahiru beyond the broken down wall and into the lake of despair. Being one of his more private experiences, he didn't intend to alert Autor of this exception.

Fakia stood there quietly as the other young man filled two liter-steins of dark Märzen before taking them to a secluded table, away from the other occupants. Fakia followed him past rowdy drunks, careful not to drop Ahiru whilst being jostled continuously. He sat across from Autor, who was calmly sampling his drink. Fakia looked down into the foaming brown liquid in his own glass, his stomach turning a bit at the smell; Ahiru, however, was full of curiosity. She slowly peeked over the edge of his stein, and before he could stop her, dipped her bill in. He sat in a moment of dread, wondering whether or not ducks got drunk or just died when consuming alcohol, but was soon put at ease when she promptly spat the liquor out again, spluttering indignantly across the tabletop. Fakia snorted, but Autor did not take the incident as kindly.

"What'd you think it was going to be, sparkling cider? Beer especially is an acquired taste, you know."

"One I may not want to develop," Fakia looked warily into his drink once more, suddenly wishing he were not old enough to drink, "I don't think I can trust myself with this."

Autor took another draught before answering. "Märzen is intentionally stronger than your everyday beer, it's made especially for this time of year within strict regulations. Try to appreciate it."

"That's what I'm afraid of. This isn't exactly the ideal time to lose my head."

"Surely Charon has adapted you at least a little bit by now? I don't think it'll slow you down that much."

"Better safe than-" Fakia was interrupted as the whole tent resounded with a loud _**whump**_. The trio looked back at the keg circle to find that a bedraggled and evidently intoxicated young man had somehow clambered to the top of a barrel and was now preparing to address the crowd that had gathered about him. The boy cleared his throat before proceeding to spout his expected nonsense in an eloquent, albeit influenced, speech.

"I ask you, how come all the boys these days never stick to one flower? They're always plowing through other peoples gardens, snatching up the roses without a vase to put them in, and letting every last petal fall before they toss it to a dog and pluck up another. How come none of the boys these days are taught that a decent flower needs a decent vase and a decent watering? The boys these days couldn't grow arugula, let alone orchids." He leaned over and coughed a bit, causing the crowd to step back a bit. Some, thinking the speech either too dull or lengthy, shambled away from the group, muttering. The boy finished hacking and straightened up, red-faced but stoic.

"I tell you," he continued, "I tell you I used to work in a garden that cultivated the most beautiful black-eyed Susans, with lovely silken petals and thick, prickly stems. A few times there were some little urchins that would sneak into the garden while the owner wasn't looking, and they'd try to pick the flowers by whittling away at the stems with their little penknives. Tell the truth, I wanted one of the yellow flowers there myself, a long slender one that was tall enough to catch the wind and twirl a bit in the breeze. I had some shears of my own that I could have clipped it with, but I knew the gardener wanted the flower to grow a bit more. He said he had a special pair of shears that could cut the stem without damaging the cells, so as not to hurt it.

"Sometimes, I'd get a little impatient and try to coax the stem into breaking away in my hands, so it looked like an accident, or like the plant was ready to deadhead anyways, but I always got pricked and rebuked by that yellow flower. Then there was another boy," he gave another cough, wet and wheezing, "a boy from a little ways toward the equator. That boy didn't have any shears, but he had his own knife, and he used to walk past the garden, whetting it on a little stone. Then, one day, the boy hopped the wall." The boy was on his hands and knees now, spluttering between words. Fakia was slightly perplexed by his odd condition, considering the boy had probably not been allowed more than a liter of Märzen, but felt his heartbeat quicken when he noticed a dark, wet-looking stain just below the young man's rib cage.

"He hopped the wall and made for the black-eyed Susans. I thought maybe the gardener had given him permission to come in, but then I saw him pull out his knife. A blade like that would kill the flower, and I-" he gulped, putting a hand to his stomach, "I just couldn't let that happen. So I threw down my gloves grabbed him by the wrist. I grabbed his wrist, an' he-" the boy took his hand from his stomach, and, to Fakia's horror, revealed it to be smeared with blood. The boy coughed again, this time tumbling off of his platform completely. The crowd, which by this time had grown in size as well as energy, rushed forward to catch him. There were spatters of expletives and outlandish explanations, but Fakia soon worked his way to the front to get a better look at the adolescent's wound, calling Autor over to identify it, leaving Ahiru to guard their beer.

Kneeling hesitantly on the dirty cobblestone pavement, Autor pulled the shirt away from the passed out boy's heaving chest. There, just over his diaphragm, was a bullet wound.

No one in the crowd seemed to know where the injured young man had come from, and there was no hospital or nearby physician to speak of. Fakia thought their involvement with him was just about over, until Autor volunteered to take care of the drunken youth.

* * *

><p>"His name is Petruschka."<p>

"You've met him?"

"Not really, he's been in the town less than a year."

"Just how do you know these things?"

"Get over your control issues, Fakia, we have more pressing matters. His life, for instance. Is that of any importance to you?"

"How in the world would we have any control over _that_?"

Autor grinned, "Why, Fakia, you'd have all the control in the world if you wanted too."

"Not possible, not even Drosselmeyer had that much power."

"Ah, but Drosselmeyer wasn't open to happy endings."

"Which are even more difficult than tragic ones. The kid's already a lost cause, why make it worse?"

"How could it possibly get worse? Besides, there's a chance. He's supposed to die by scimitar, not bullet. Things clearly got out of hand and he somehow ended up in a duel. I wonder whatever happened to the Moor."

Fakia took the other boy firmly by the shoulder. "Autor. Shut up about your speculations and tell me the things you _do_ know."

"Well that's an _awful_ vague question, _Fakia._ You say that as if I only know a small, insignificant amount of things."

Fakia rephrased his question slowly, through gritted teeth. "Tell me what it is you know about the _boy_."

Autor shrugged him away with a smirk. "Now _that_ won't take quite as long," he adjusted his glasses before continuing. "Although you should already know about this yourself, really."

Fakia raised an eyebrow. Autor sighed dramatically, "Petruschka is a _ballet._"

"...You mean he comes from a story?"

"Aren't you just bright as a scherzo? Yes, it's a story."

"How?"

"Well, because someone wrote it, obviously."

"No, I mean, how did it get _here."_

"By being a story?"

"_But the story's __**over**__._"

"There were stories other than Drosselmeyer's that got stuck here, you know."

"Like what?"

"Like Petruschka."

"Autor!"

"I presume you know of Herr Stravinsky?"

"...That would be The Firebird, wouldn't it?"

"Correct, composer to the Ballet Russes."

"Wait, Petruschka's a Stravinsky ballet? But I've never heard of it."

"I told you he was born this year, didn't I?"

"No, you said he _came _here this past year."

"Same thing, for a story."

"Get to the point."

Autor put his hands up defensively. "Alright then, have it your way. Petruschka is a tragedy about a puppet made of straw who is killed while trying to save the ballerina he is in love with, who doesn't even like him by the way, and he ends up haunting the puppeteer who allowed him to die. However, the score is fantastic. I would suggest you look over it, but I doubt you could read it."

"...The puppet dies."

"Yes."

"This boy is a puppet."

"In a way."

"So he's going to die."

"He would probably die from that wound even if he weren't in a story, but since he _is_ from a story, there's still hope. That is, if you don't weasel out of it."

"What do you mean there's still hope?"

"I mean, it looks like this Petruschka got into a duel instead of being slain on the spot. That means the story is already in a bit of disarray, _therefore_ it is susceptible to even further alterations."

"...Meaning we can now change the ending."

Autor leaned in. "Bingo."

* * *

><p>(AN: Sorry to leave at such a point, and just when we were getting somewhere too! But honestly, this was getting way too long. Anyone notice that each chapter is longer than the last? It's like I'm getting more and more hesitant to release. So the year is finally established, if you will bother to look up what year Petrushka was first performed, or go so far as to check the dates listed, which I was sure to make accurate. Here's a hint, this is the year following the Oktoberfest Centennial celebration.

So, yeah, I was hesitant to put a beer festival in here, but then I was like, "This is already rated teen, and it's not like I'm planning on extremely inappropriate material. None of the main characters are going to get drunk or anything." I don't even think of alcohol as negative, since I do not immediately associate it with drunkenness, I associate it with the fact that Europeans drink for pleasure, not to get wasted. So, yeah, I really wanted to weasel in an Oktoberfest themed akt, mostly because I really wanted to use this particular part of Petrushka. The story is oppressively depressing, but I LOVE the music from the Shrovetide fair. If anyone thus far has bothered to actually look up the pieces I am using the themes from, I'm sure they will agree with me on this one.

I was also hesitant to Have Autor say "bingo" because I don't know when people started using the word in this sense, but I thought is fit so well! So yeah, really throwing caution to the wind here.

And before I am corrected by anyone, I do know that Petrushka never makes a drunken speech, but some other person does during the Shrovetide fair. I also realize that the actual speech was more likely to be political than parable, but I really wanted to have a drunk speech in there anyway, just because it is my favorite motif in this particular piece. Look it up, it sounds really pretty, even if it is supposed to represent a drunk guy.)


End file.
